April 11, 2021: Two Little Children

Two Little Children
 
Two little children, far from a home
Where their parents had turned into strangers.
It was late in the night when they set off to roam,
For they thought it the lesser danger.
 
For water, they followed a lazy stream
Where bushes and grass grew tall,
And though defensive birds would dive and scream,
They couldn’t be seen at all.
 
They had a salve to keep insects at bay.
They didn’t know what they were after.
They were only trying to make their way.
The wind in the trees seemed like laughter.
 
Laughing at -- or laughing with?
Up rose the friendly sun.
The two were the heroes of a made-up myth,
And were out for survival . . . and fun!
 
They’d travelled several days so far,
Using Sarah’s fearless madness.
She found a whole bag of food in a car.
How they danced in their grateful gladness!
 
But even with food, they at times felt forlorn.
Could their journey be sustained?
Doris’ shirt had got dirty and torn,
And the clouds were threatening rain.
 
So they made their way towards a friendly farm
To find a place they could sleep.
They slipped through the gate of a simple barn,
And lay down next to some sheep.
 
A boy came out with a bag of feed,
And asked them if all was well.
How long had they been there?  Were they in need?
He told them that he wouldn’t tell.
 
He only wanted to hear their tale,
And he seemed like a really nice guy.
“Eventually,” he said, “The law will prevail,
But I’ll try to help you get by.”
 
At least they had someone to whom they could speak
From a family that seemed so fine!
They hung around for about a week,
‘Til they decided they’d had their time.

April 11, 2021: "Children" by Po Chu-I in Arthur Waley's "Chinese Poems", page 154.

 Children

Written c. 820.

My nephew, who is six years old, is called 'Tortoise';
My daughter of three--little 'Summer Dress'.
One is beginning to learn to joke and talk;
The other can already recite poems and songs.
At morning they play clinging about my feet;
At night they sleep pillowed against my dress.
Why, children, did you reach the world so late,
Coming to me just when my years are spent?
Young things draw our feelings to them;
Old people easily give their hearts.
The sweetest vintage at last turns sour;
The full moon in the end begins to wane.
And so with men the bonds of love and affection
Soon may change to a load of sorrow and care.
But all the world is bound by love's ties;
Why did I think that I alone should escape?